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Rat in a Maze.

Run away, little boy,
from all the monsters
that haunt you,
hunt you down.

They always find you.

Long fingers reaching
down from where you hide
beneath the bed,
touching your leg
as an inhuman creature’s eyes
invade your mind
till there’s nearly nothing inside
that you could call your own.

A world on fire,
a funeral pyre.
They wait till it all falls down
to offer a savior’s hand.
Fucking liars.

One day he vows to awaken
and fight them and the fate
upon which they rely.

Nothing but bad dreams,
or so they say.
Just insane, a participant in,
a plagiarist of a modern myth,
he should shut his mouth
in shame, bury it all away.
As if the world
he was born into is sane
enough to cast
such aspersions anyway.

There they stand,
silhouettes
at the bedside again,
whispering through eyes,
into mind, trapping
him in a joint dream.

Does this monster
tell only lies?
Dying in the arms
of a horrible maybe,
living a lie, truth awaiting
its season to rise.

He trembles and he cries.
On edge, unable
to sleep at night.
No white flags or blazing guns
will end the war against his mind.

Just lost inside
this aging machine,
breaking at the seams,
still striving to find a way
out of the maze
they locked him inside.

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